The hottest day of the summer marked for me the beginning of two things:

1. A summer of unemployment
2. A new life practice of letting the day come to me

I started off my morning debating some Conservative ass-lick’r on a local TV station.  After 10 minutes of listening to (Insert racist anti-immigrant diatribe here), I stormed out of the studio and made my way down University Avenue towards the Financial District. I was looking for a demonstration at KPMG, the monstrous consulting firm responsible for recommending Toronto slash $800 million in public jobs and services from it’s annual budget. I had decided not to write down the address of the demonstration, hoping that the sounds of angry chants echoing off the towering buildings would be so loud I could follow it.

On my way, I bumped into a friend-crush who informed me that the demo had  ended because it started on time, (something I rarely account for in my planning of anything). Stating that he had no plans for the day, he asked if I wanted to hang out. Excited and nervous to see what spontaneous one-on-one time with him would bring, I said yes. Hoping to cool-off, we finally entered the Eaton Centre for a free dose of A.C. Within minutes, its stifling interior and  self-esteem sucking ads forced us back onto the sweaty streets.

In front of us at the corner of Yonge and Dundas, we saw what seemed to be a mirage of very small children running amidst dozens of water jet fountains bursting high up outta the ground. Glancing at each other for quick nods of approval, we kicked off our shoes, tossed aside our bags and sprinted for the splash’n. I pulled out an extra red t-shirt from my bag, drenched it in sprinklers and knotted it as many times as I could, until it formed a big red ball. We tossed it back and forth pretending to be MLB pitchers, NBA ballers, World Cup soccer players, even NFL touch-downers.

Basking in the joy of our new found fame, we slipped from the bliss of sprinkler land, sliding like human puddles up Yonge Street. I laughed hysterically at  my crush as he insistently stopped every third passerby (squeezing water from his shirt pretending it was sweat), asking them if they were as sweaty as he was.

On our way, we stopped in at one of the few stores we could afford, Dollarama and bought 3 things: sidewalk chalk, bubbles and the biggest bouncy ball we could find.  Happy with our playful purchase, we trotted into Yorkville and soon spotted a HUGE wall (the side of a private car park), on Cumberland Street. PERFECT! we thought, for a game of impromtu handball. We whipped out our big new bouncy ball, haphazardly slapping it into the wall, until we found the perfect rhythm. Slap-Bounce-Slap-Laugh. Slap-Bounce-Slap-Laugh. Immersed in pleasure, we were rudely disrupted, when a mean mean lady came outta nowhere, flailing her translucent arms, screaming, “You’re on private property! Stop that right now!” We looked down at the public sidewalk under our feet and then back up at her chuckling. With little in the way of coordination, she tried to snatch our ball and began steaming like a grumpy teapot when we out maneuvered her. She threatened to call the cops. Unwilling to let her spoil our first day of (f)unemployment, we galavanted onward to Hemmingways rooftop patio to toast our day of playing together in a glass half full.